


Cards Against Humanity

by Neji



Series: Cards Against Humanity [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cards Against Humanity, M/M, eren and levi do the do oops, ereri, like hardly, tiny jeanmarco, top! levi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 01:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1491895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neji/pseuds/Neji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When I’m a billionaire, I shall erect a 50-foot statue to commemorate…”<br/>“The first time I caught you wanking.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cards Against Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is patronizing to anyone who already knows the rules, but in CAH you have ten white cards each, and the person who last took a shit (no lie) has to read out one black card. Everyone picks their funniest white card, and hilarity ensues. After the funniest white cards have been read, everyone swaps theirs for a new one. Questions include: "What were Micheal Jackson's dying thoughts?" and "What's the most emo?" and answers range from Crystal meth to named celebrities, and to thing's like "A bleached asshole."  
> Hope you enjoy!

             “Ok, ok, you pick it, you go first,” Eren was practically vibrating opposite me. It was disgusting, how excited he was, and I was more than happy to draw the first black card and put it on the floor, facing upwards. Eren, cross-legged opposite me on my new rug, and thrumming with my nice wine I had given him (which he had not appreciated to its full potential), was already laughing as he read the first card. I remember the time he thought he was funny by putting bleach in my detergent and dying my blue sheets an off-white, and told me had “So many ace tricks around this apartment, babe,” which, as it was, was only a green dye in my shampoo (useless on black hair, the dense shit) and a mousetrap in my slippers (unfortunately successful), so I distrusted his judgement of humour.

“Isn’t the person who took the last shit supposed to read the first card?” I ask, but he isn’t paying attention to me, the little rat. His hair is anarchy and his chest is red, which often happens to him when he drinks. Probably a birth defect.

 **“Daddy, why is mommy crying?”** he reads the card out loud, and I’m offended he thinks I can’t simply read it myself. I look to the ten cards in my hand, and find none of them sufficiently funny for me. I ask him to go first, and he is overeager to do so.

“Daddy, why is mommy crying?” He repeats, “Oestrogen!” and he collapses on his back.

“Famine,” I respond, and I place my white card onto the parallel pile I have now allocated to being the used white cards, face down. Eren soon sobers up enough to try to insult me, while placing his own card onto the pile. I straiten it while he speaks.

“That’s the funniest card you had?”

“It was that or The Amish.”

“You can’t use that one now! Put it in the pile!”

Was he raised in a cave? In fact, I’m not particularly interested, because the shithead has just knocked his foot into the pile of black cards and sent them into complete disarray. I push them back into order. He takes a white card, I take two, and he snatches the top black card from me as I push it into alignment with the others.

**“What never fails to liven up the party?”**

“My relationship status,” I respond immediately, reading my third card, and I have to admit- I am proud of myself for that one. Eren’s face screws into anger at the backhanded insult to him, and I’m surprised he clued on so quickly. I smirk at him; because I know how much he likes that.

“That’s not funny.”

“It is, it’s funnier than oestrogen.”

“I had puberty.”

“Really? When?” I let myself laugh, because I’m a very funny fucker sometimes, and my humour is wasted on this little cretin. He huffs and throws his card at me. I catch it and place it slowly on the pile.

“Shut up, pick a card.”

I do so, and I place it on the floor as soon as I’ve picked it, because I know he’s going to read it out to me.

**“A romantic candle lit dinner would be incomplete without…”**

I look at my cards, and sure enough there are ones that I’m sure would have my boyfriend in stiches. I consider it, because it would be fantastic to watch him piss with laughter, but I just bought this rug. I can hear him giggle, and as I look at him, he draws his pink lips together and makes a flat line with them, trying to conceal any humour (does he realises this isn’t poker?), and I can see him chewing on the side of his mouth.

He’s wiggling around on the floor, trying not to blurt his answer, probably. His squirming stomach muscles are visible through his shirt, and times like this I do wonder how this kid actually manages to sexually arouse me despite having three brain cells and a middle parting.

 I wonder if I can get him naked.

“A romantic candle lit dinner would be incomplete without: guys who don’t call,” he announces, looking proud, although he doesn’t seem to find this answer as funny as oestrogen. I look at my hand, while he replaces his used white card with a new one. I can see why he and his tribe of acquaintances play this game. I have Republicans, tasteful sideboob, Nicolas Cage, yeast, and other such seemingly hilarious one-liners in my hand; however, I come up with my own.

“Overstimulation.”

His face is red in an instant, like a blushing virgin, and he shuffles around. I watch his eyes flick to the window, and back to the cards in his hand. He silently places the black card down, and I do the same, sure to make sure he doesn't see Nickelback leaving my hand.  He perks up quickly, and I was pleased with the lingering pink flush along his collarbone that accompanies his drunken redness. What an imbecile.

I think, as he reads the next card, that I’m enjoying myself, and he seems to be too with his face glowing crimson.

**“Blank, kid-tested, mother-approved.”**

“Rimming.”

“…Daddy issues.” He responds, almost nonchalantly, and he has a (rare) moment of being truly intelligent; I blink, surprised by the laughter that escaped my own throat, because the little turd has actually picked one that has a genuine entertaining quality to it. He flashes me a brilliant smile; which is, quite frankly, disgusting (and now I’m sure he’s using my toothpaste).

 **“Make a haiku,”** I read off the card, and it instructs me to pick three whites. Eren screws his face in concentration, and his stray brow hairs that he doesn't pluck become obvious to me. I have no semblance of an idea of how he can live with such an untidy countenance. “Do you know what that means, kid?”

“Yes I know what it means!”

“You didn't know what a simile was the other week.”

“Well we can’t all be English teachers. I’m going first.”

 _Ugh,_ he prompts me of one of the pathetic excuses for an intellectual private school student I was teaching today, who wanted to know how to spell ‘wild’ and asked if it had an ‘E’ in it. He reminded me of Eren when I first met him.

Now I’m thinking about work, and that’s almost put me off letting Eren cum twice tonight. He lays out three white cards on the floor.

 _“_ A sea of troubles, a lifetime of sadness, tentacle porn.”

I look him in the eye, and he runs two hands through his hair, his smile less than modest.

“Get it? A _sea_ of troubles, and _tentacle_ like on a sea monster. I had a theme.”

“Let me suck your dick, you like it when you’re standing up, I can finger you.” He is as still as a rock, and probably processing this as fast as a rock would. “Call that a theme, bitch.”

I don’t think he’s breathing, but that’s fine, he does that when he’s thinking. I’m surprised he hasn’t called me out on my bullshit yet considering he’s played this with his friends before, and should have been familiarised with the cards. _Fucking idiot._

 **“Why am I sticky?”** He cuts my thoughts off, and I’m hurt that he isn’t cherishing my haiku like it deserves to be cherished.

“Strawberry lube.”

“Embryonic stem cells. Actually _ew,_ why did I say that, _ew!_ ”

**“Gap, that’s how I want to die.”**

“You’re supposed to say blank, inept shithead.”

“Blank, inept shithead.”

“You’re so fucking irritating. Fifty-thousand volts straight to the nipples.”

“I didn’t know you were into that.”

“No, my card,” he shows it to me, and I have to admit I read it twice. Eren looks particularly pleased with himself again, and he reaches into his trouser pocket to find his phone. He taps away at it quickly, and I’m vaguely impressed with his finger movement. Sometimes I forget that he’s fairly sexy, sat in a pair of light denim bottoms and one of my V-neck white shirts. “I’m sending this to Jean,” What sort of a sick game was he playing anyway wearing my clothes anyway? That’s a low blow, he knows I would never touch a thread he has worn, possible contaminated with his unwashed hand germs and dead skin-

_He’s going to get dandruff on my shirt, isn't he._

“Poor life choices.” I read my seventh card, but if I’m honest I've forgotten what the question was. I look at Eren quickly, and I notice that he’s an insufficient tone of red, and his eyes are visibly glazed, like he's ignoring me. He shakes his head and reads the black card from the top of the pile.

 **“What will always get you laid?”** he’s laughing like an imbecile, but he’s still flushed, and I think that means he’s thinking about more than this game. Flicking through his cards, apparently finding himself with a wealth of side-splitting answers, he settles on one and looks at me smugly, like he’s beaten me. I find that hard to believe. He’s pulling at his clothes in a desperate sort of way, and I swear I just saw him rub his own nipple through _my_ shirt.

“Untidy hair.”

I don’t think he notices that his hand sneaks its way into his hair, straightening it out. I look at him, and he locks eyes with me slowly, before speedily looking at his cards. _Yeah,_ I think, _he’s horny._ I bet it’s my nice wine strumming within him, or he really is getting off on this game. At the risk of seeming more excited than he should be by my statements, he dares to pull his right leg up onto his lap. _Hard this early, Eren?_

“I had genital piercings.”

I smirk, then read the next black card.

**“What’s the next happy meal toy?”**

He slams down a card. “The blood of Christ,” and he starts laughing, but there is a nervous edge to it, like he’s trying to take the attention away from the obvious heat in his cheeks and the way he keeps shuffling his ass around on the floor.

“Nudes.”

**“What’s my secret power?”**

“Deep throating.”

“Um, sexting,”

Is he joining in with me? How sweet, but he should try making up his own instead of reading the cards. The little rule breaker was too stubborn to break the rules… how does that work?

I read the next one. **“What’s that sound?”**

“The…the art of seduction.”

“Sexual tension.”

**“When I’m a billionaire, I shall erect a 50-foot statue to commemorate…”**

“The first time I caught you wanking-”

“That’s it,” he throws his cards onto the floor, a loud slap echoing around my apartment. He stands and reaches over to me, pulling at my shirt collar to make me stand too. “Fuck me right now, you piece of shit.” And he slams his lips into mine in the most irritating kind of way, but it makes me moan anyhow.

 

* * *

 

He’s writhing impatiently underneath me, his hips gyrating in a crude and sloppy way on my fingers, trying desperately hard to stretch himself so that we can fuck all the teasing out. He’s red everywhere, _everywhere,_ and his hair is sticking in strange angles in the air and falling into his face and across my pillow, and it’s flapping around and dripping sweat onto him in a temping and rough way, and I never had a chance of resisting the temptation to shove my free hand into the locks and pull them back. In the process I shift onto my knees, and the horny shit can’t resist opening his legs and pushing me between them with his thighs. Using the new position, I pull the coarse strands of his stupid haircut and twist him; his back arching upwards and creating a bridge of his body, almost made for my mouth to travel along. I’m not going to waste my time by peppering him with little nips and kisses, I know he’s a kinky little bastard, so I outright lick the soft cushion below his rib cage.

He lets out an overcome moan, the bones and chords in his neck protruding and pounding with his racing pulse. I reward him, because he sure as hell can bottom like an angel, by adding a third finger, and I know his body well enough to find all of the places inside of him that he loves.

“Shitting hell- get on with it- ah, shit!”

Pressing my fingers tightly forward, feeling a stretch, I ram them in an unwavering strength against his prostate and hold them monstrously solid against the sensitive area, and he jumps up into the air and sits onto his ass (a shot of precum shooting from him, landing on my thigh), and sitting like that means he is crushing my hand, while the pleasure through him causes him to make little noises, sobbing like a schoolgirl.

The position ceases my press on his gland, and although he was initially pleased with the relief from the intense and uncontrollable stimulation, he begins to grind impatiently and whine from the back of his throat.

“You’re on my hand,”

“Ok, level with me, I’m not getting off it if you’re going to make more attempts on my life like that.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Seriously,” he says, but he reclines onto the bed anyway, grunting as I accidently press too hard on a random area inside of him with no pleasurable outcome.

He starts thrusting again, against my fingers, throwing his head around, clinging to my shoulders and breaking my skin with his nails. I brace a hand on his thigh, pressing his hips into the mattress, enjoying his struggle against me.

“You want to put the condom on?” I ask, more to signify that I want to get moving rather than allowing him the opportunity. He nods eagerly, beams a smile again (similar to the one earlier that got us in this situation, the dick) and dives sideways to my bedside table. As he searches the drawer, I occupy myself with his thighs; the expanse of untainted, lightly muscled and tanned skin seeming like Nature’s mistake, belonging to a man who falls over putting a hat on. I drag my nails down his left leg, and he lets out a high pitched squeal and slaps my shoulder, then generates a noise of triumph as he produces a miniature silver packet.

I lean back, watching him rip the packet and climb onto his knees, then hover over me as he grips me, causing me to grunt (might I add, he grasped me unexpectedly, and the noise I made was from surprise, not from how he flicked his wrist) and rolls the rubber down me quickly. He gives me a languid stroke, and the shit eating grin on his face pushes me into action.

I flip him over, and I don’t think he was expecting it, because he yelps, and I locate the lube under one of the pillows, rubbing some generously onto myself. I can’t help it, I have some fascination with it, but I grab a clump of his hair as I push into him, and I use it to pull his body back into the beautiful curve.

Eren was always totally useless when he had a dick inside of him, because he was always so devastatingly easy to excite and arouse, and so it’s no surprise when he makes a frantic grab for a pillow and bites down onto it before I even create a pace to my movements; and can do nothing more than moan and rip the bedding with his nails as I use his hair and hip as leverage to thrust into him. He starts that fantastic squirming again, but aforementioned uselessness means than every jerk of my hips into his makes his body stutter. He is holding himself up on his hands at first, the backs of his thighs warm against the fronts of mine, the sound of them slapping together accompanying the vibrant array of wails in the room; but the sensations of our joined bodies, only heightened by our positions (because when he’s bent over like this I swear I can reach so deep I touch his tongue) cause him to drop to his elbows.

I lean over him, releasing his hair so that he can lay his chest on the mattress, and the new angle means he has a reason to be screaming as loud as he is; but, to help him along even more, I reach around, to find his hardened length weeping beneath him.

“Fucking shit!” he shouts, apparently releasing his death-grip bite on the pillow, as I cup his balls in my hand, feeling the sac tighten with the promise of release.

He starts pushing back into me, and ten thrusts later he lets out a long and breathy curse. He throws his arms above his head and his eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a satisfied hum. Unfortunately for him, I’m unfinished, and although he has reclined, I pick up where I left off, and he lets out an overstimulated yelp and goes to seize another handful of the blankets, his moans frequent and lurid.

It takes another half an hour for him to outright roll me over and ride me into my orgasm. He falls asleep almost immediately when I’m done, and I’m convinced he was already snoring before his eyes closed. I lay next to him for a second, looking at him spread out and naked across my bleached sheets. I reach over him to pick up the lube and replace it on my bedside, and in the process I stir him.

“Go on, ‘dmit it, that game is fuckin’ gold.”

I laugh at him before asking, “Who won, anyway?”

 

* * *

 Bonus: The texts

* * *

 

 **01:32 am / To:** horse face

playing cards against humanity w/ levi  
“______, that’s how i want to die,” guess what my card was???

**01:34 am/ From: horse face**

something gay

 **01:35 am/ To:** horse face

“50,000 volts to the nipples”

 **01:35 am/ From:** horse face

wait you got levi to play that with u? omg we have to double date this shit i’ll text marco

 **09:05 am/ To:** horse face

Tuesday night?  
  
**09:12 am/ From:** horse face

done.

**Author's Note:**

> Expect a sequel involving jeanmarco very soon!


End file.
